


All hearts are broken

by mimi_of_the_earth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:16:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2225301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimi_of_the_earth/pseuds/mimi_of_the_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about a balance, about loss and looking for it. Also about ex-military surgeon and ex-head of surgeon ward at Bart’s hospital Mycroft Holmes, who knew she didn’t deserve a guardian angel. And about Gregory who came on Earth only to complete his mission. But he couldn’t do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bad day. 

Mistake after mistake. Two coffees, two crushed plastic cups. Mycroft leaned back in her chair, removing them from the trash. Slowly she straightened thin plastic. Why she always crushed them? She didn’t know.

It was a very bad day. 

Mycroft put the cups down, again she stretched out her hand in front of her. She looked at her fingers, clenched them and did this one more time and one more time. Think! Think!

She hit the desk with open hand, it didn’t help.

Mycroft put papers into top drawer. She took a few notes, Watson would find them later. He would thank her for saving another unimportant life. Mycroft one more time pointed the obvious, she could do better.

She could.

She turned the lights off and walked out of the lab. Took off the white coat and threw it into cleaner truck. 

The stealing of the uniform was tiring and humiliating. Mycroft crossed the hall. People were sitting on plastic chairs, reading magazines, tortured with pain or boredom. They were waiting for their turn. Mycroft saw symptoms. She would like not to see them, but it was permanent she couldn’t delete it. Diagnosis seemed to shine above the heads of the patients like exit light above the door.

It was a bad day, and could get worse. 

And worse. 

“It's you again!”  
“I also wish you a good evening, Anderson.”

Mycroft tried to escape, speeding up the pace, but former subordinate ran after her from the hospital. 

“Are you here since yesterday? No really, how long you can do this? I won’t be surprised if you slept in CT.”  
“And I would not be surprised if you were sleeping in your office, when all these people are waiting for you. Really Anderson, if you want to be more active during the day you should clean less during the night.”  
“Clean?”

There was something that Mycroft loved in Anderson. The guy was dumbass, but had some phenomenal features. For example he always caught on the same hook. If Anderson was a fish, he would be very dead fish.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. She leaned like she was going to tell him some secret, but she didn’t lower her voice. 

“I suppose that you’ve been cleaning all night. And miss Donovan helped you. Judging by the damage of the epidermis on her knees she cleaned the carpet. Unlike her you are wearing pants, so I can only speculate. However I will give you a medical advice, doggy style is not only a bit degrading for a woman, but also harmful for backs when you came to certain age.”  
“What?” Anderson turned red and Mycroft admired the view. There was something beautiful about the blood rush to his face. “This is not your business!” She heard through the buzz of her own thoughts. “If I find out that you are spreading rumours. Don’t think I don’t know, they kick you out. Who the hell you think you are. You are still coming here, because of you Watson will be in troubles.”  
“Only if you spread the news.”  
“If you are going to still irritate me, I will.”

Mycroft cocked her head. It was not complicated, look, analyse. 

Something in his pocket. When they met Anderson had something stick to his fingers. What? White, paper. Sticker? No, label.

“Empty threats Anderson” She tossed carelessly looking at him. “If you are going to talk with Watson tell him about the drugs you are taking from hospital. I think that selling them is quite serious reason to be fired out, don’t you think?”

Poor Anderson.

“I am not selling anything!”

Of course not, people like Anderson couldn’t even park their car in a bad way. Prison for him would be real hell. 

“I will prove it in court. You can bring Donovan as a partner, you will make sure she doesn’t clean carpets for someone else in your absence.”  
“You will pay for it.” He threaten.

Mycroft pulled out a crumpled twenty, she wanted to buy cigarettes, but she changed her mind.

“How much is worth your self-love? I think it is good enough.”

She put money into Anderson’s pocket and walked to the other side of the street. She would buy a newspaper. She had to survive weekend. On Monday she would return, Watson said she could come but not too often. Three times a week wasn’t too often, right?

Mycroft didn’t reach the other side of the street. Big, red car (hatchback, family car, children plus dog) jumped out of nowhere. No, not truth. The driver was driving correctly, Mycroft broke a law. Like always.

The impact threw her into air and flung over the hood, then she fell on the road. She couldn’t breathe, she stared at the sky. She tried to remember this shade of blue, before people arrived and someone would shout “Doctor!”.

Mycroft wanted to laugh.

But she couldn’t, she was dying and it would be painful.

She suffered, didn’t feel the lower part of her body. She wondered if they manage to go with her to surgery and who would be operating. She hoped to die before operating table. 

It was pathetic to suffer a lot.

When she thought no one came, seconds later a stranger appeared. Again she heard a noise and then she felt like she was underwater.

The stranger bent over, he looked angry.

Driver? A passer? But he wasn’t scared, overwhelmed of too curious. 

“Are you okay?” Man asked. He had an umbrella in his left hand.   
“No, nothing is okay, I am dying.” Mycroft said very quietly. She was accustomed to contact with idiots. This man had to be really stupid, because he firmly said.  
“You're not dying. Everything is fine.”  
“ I got hit by a car.”  
“Nonsense.” The man growled, grabbing Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft couldn’t say anything, didn’t have time to scream, when the stranger hoisted her on her feet. The pain became unbearable, numb legs refused to obey, broken ribs migrated, probably pierced lungs.

Mycroft opened her eyes… and everything was fine. She wasn’t hurt and there was no one beside her. Red car missed her. 

Mycroft looked back.

“Oh, shit!”

It was Anderson, who caught Mycroft’s arm. 

“You alive?”  
“Extremely silly question.” Mycroft remarked, shaking her head. She touched her ear and temple, but there was no trace of blood. She also looked at her coat, she saw…

Or maybe not.

“You were lucky that you jump out of the way.”  
“What?”  
“The car was so fast and you didn’t look at the street.”  
“What did you say?”  
“Are sure, you are okay? You seem depressed, you always seem to be, but know…”  
Mycroft walked away didn’t listen to Anderson anymore. She went to underground station.

oOo

“Leukaemia. Exactly chronic granulocytic leukaemia. ” Mycroft said triumphantly when she entered Watson’s office.   
“Mycroft, I know it was your office, but you can’t just walk here like that. I am a little busy.”

Mycroft looked.

The patient was sitting in a chair staring at her.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Mycroft muttered. “Please, forgive me.” She went to the window and looked out, folding her arms behind her back.   
“Well… That would be all. If you have any problems, please contact with doctor Donovan.”

When a patient closed the door, John rubbed his temples and turned his chair towards Mycroft.

“Well, who has leukaemia?”   
“The woman from five oh eight with gout.”  
“Mycroft, that is not even my ward.” John frowned.  
“So?” Mycroft shrugged. “You know I can’t work with Dimmock. So the woman, sixty two years, granddaughter brought her food from cafeteria.”  
“And what?”  
“She didn’t eat it.”  
“You know, I am able to understand.” John snorted. He did not to treat this seriously, or rather he tried to hide the fact of seriousness. Apparently still had a need of being in good relations with all his colleagues that now were his subordinates. For Mycroft it was a nonsense. She wasn’t liked, respected yes, needed yes, but liked? Never. She would tell this John if they were friends.

But Mycroft didn’t have friends.

And it was completely fine.

“She also resigned from her favourite cookies, and bars from vending machine and fruit salad. She told me, she wasn’t hungry, even if her last meal was 7 hours and 22 minutes ago.”  
“So? Old people do not eat much.”  
“Old people do not eat much.” Mycroft said mockingly. “This is your opinion as a doctor?”  
“Stop! Wait! She told you… Mycroft!” John made a pained face. “Did you talk with a patient? You are not working here anymore, if anyone finds out…”  
“Don’t be afraid, no one will know. Just as no one find out about her leukaemia. All symptoms and higher lever of granulocytes! But of course no one care to check after gout was diagnosed.”  
“Well, right.” Watson rubbed his temples again. Mycroft didn’t like this gesture. “You saw that old lady didn’t eat her cookies and you diagnosed her with illness we didn’t have here like for twenty years?”  
“Eight. She needs biopsy.”   
“On the fact that she didn’t eat, you want me to make a painful treatment, because you suspect.”  
“I do not suspect, I know.” She looked straight into Johns’ eyes. It always worked on her subordinates, John turned his eyes away. “I know, you know that my diagnosis are 99% correct.”  
“But there is always the one percent, right?”

Damned statistics. Mycroft turned back to the window, hands in pockets of a white coat. Watson was right, recently she was worse, she needed do more work.

Behind her came heavy sigh.

“Okay, I will talk to Dimmock. I will try not to mention your name. No, go home Mycroft.”  
“What?” Mycroft felt a bit jumpy. “No, I can’t it is too early.” She saw emotions on Watson’s face. “I will go in the evening, when the shift is ended.”

“But you do not have a shift.” Hung in the air, sad unspoken words. John looked at her with pity. Blessed dumb people with their sentiments. Blessed John with his charity. He thought that Mycroft would die at home, went crazy, or maybe boredom or her nightmare would be her end. Or she would shoot herself. Obvious nonsense, but Mycroft didn’t want to check this theory, sometimes, even Watsons’ diagnosis were correct. Who knows, maybe she was one of those diagnosis?”

“So?” John cleared his throat, signalling that the meeting was about to end. Mycroft turned to him.  
“There is a man. He pulled me out from under the wheels of a car yesterday.”  
“What?”  
“You have to know him.”  
“Mycroft, what happened, what car?”  
“He has to come to hospital. Quite often, I don’t think he is visiting the patient, rather employees…”  
“And what is about him?”  
“At this moment I don’t know. I am just curious.”  
“Mycroft Holmes interested in healthy human being?”  
“So?”  
“Okay, okay, what is the name of your saviour?”   
“I don’t know.”  
“Good luck.” John said when Mycroft walked toward the door.  
“Oh, and the new candidate for your deputy, miss Adler, has tendencies to sadism.”  
She left before John could comment it.

oOo

“How are you?”  
“Fine, thank you. And you?”  
“I’d rather hear something more.”  
“Really? And I always thought that this question is only matter of politeness.”

Mycroft crossed her legs and shifted in her chair. With a smile she looked at the woman in front of her. Mycroft controlled herself in a perfect way, no aggression or depression.

“You miss our last meeting.”  
“I was busy.”  
“Doing what?” She leaned slightly. Judging be the earlobes she had recently infection, but now everything was back to normal. “Miss Holmes?”  
“Is this interrogation?” 

Woman pursed her lips, disappointed. Nothing new. She had to be bored. Every time the same pattern.

This year she had suffered from angina three times. She should go to doctor.

“You participated in the therapy voluntarily.”

Not really. Mycroft didn’t have a choice.

Mycroft looked into therapists’ eyes waiting for her to turn away, but she watched Mycroft until it got boring and Mycroft turned her face towards the window. It was raining.

“Awful weather. Don’t you think?”  
“You are a doctor, miss Holmes.”

She was a doctor.

“You should know you can’t cure someone who doesn’t want to be healthy.”

Complete nonsense. She dealt with diseases, not with people. She didn’t have time for sweet talk with every patient.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t want to.

And she would not want to.

“What do you think about group therapy?” Mycroft knew she would ask about this today.  
“Bad idea, you know I am extremely antisocial.”  
“You diagnosed yourself with that.”  
“My school psychologist diagnosed me.”  
“Are you trying to match?”

Mycroft turned away.

“There is a possibility I don’t want to be healthy.”

oOo

Gregory sat on the table and waved his legs. Beside him a dead man was lying. 

“Rough day? Gregory asked, smiling weakly. The man didn’t answer, so Gregory turned awkwardly. He leaned over, touched man’s rough cheek. He tried to recall what people thought when they were dead. But he couldn’t.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said in hushed voice. He patted the man casually. “It will pass.”

Anthea came to the morgue and was a bit surprised, when she saw Greg.

“Oh, What are you doing here?” She asked lifting an eyebrow.   
“I thought that you have a break, so I came to think a little…” Greg ran hand through his hair.

Anthea smiled briefly.

“Bad day? It is because of her?”  
“How do you always know?”  
“I see it in your eyes. So first meeting wasn’t very good?”  
Gregory shrugged. “I feel that I will have many problems.” Gregory said grimly. “With this Mycroft Holmes.”

He didn’t even know how right he was.

oOo

The patient was twenty six and unfortunately conscious, which meant talkative.

“Are you my doctor?”  
“No, I want to do some tests.” Mycroft announced.

Taking a saliva sample, Mycroft threw the blanket and began to watch the legs of the patient. The boy curled up, trying to lift the elbows, but Sherlock pushed him in the chest, forcing to fall on the pillow. 

“Do not move.”  
“You are not in a good mood, are you, doctor?”

Mycroft ignored the statement. When the patient was still rambling, she looked at his swollen ankles, then drew attention to his feet.

“Do you sweat more than normally?”

The patient seemed to be confused, which was just absurd. 

“I don’t.. I think it is normal, you no like other people…”

Mycroft looked at him disapprovingly. She touched the foot. 

“What… it tickles!”  
“Be a man.” Mycroft snapped frowning. “Do you have a cat or hamster?”  
“Guinea pig.” Of course, she was an idiot for not understanding immediately. “His name is Eddie.”  
“Not important.”  
“You asked about him.”  
“But I didn’t asked about its name.” She retorted.  
“Do I irritate you?”  
“Yes.”

Silence, Mycroft reluctantly tried to said something.

“You don’t irritate me personally. All people irritate me.”  
“I want to see my doctor.”  
“I’m almost finished. Just be quiet for a moment.” She wanted to check something on the monitor beside the bed, but her pager beeped. Out of habit she put hand into pocket and remembered that she didn’t have pager anymore. Mobile’s screen lit, a message form unknown number.

“Go to the corridor. GL”

Mycroft frowned but went to the door and at this point the monitor exploded.

This had never happened before. Not once. The room immediately filled with a smell of burning plastic. Mycrofts’ ears were filled with a noise. She fell on the floor covering her head with her hands. Bombs! The raid!

She got up immediately, clenched her teeth. The leg was numb. Smoke made her eyes watering. The patient was coughing. The noise was unbearable. 

Mycroft turned the patient on his back, quickly prepared herself to do intubation. She moved fast, reached for bedside table were usually were necessary things. Her head was empty, but her body moved automatically. She took a laryngoscope and the tube, when she lifted it to patient mouth, suddenly her hand began to shake. She was afraid of making mistake. Panic attack intensified when the boy looked at her with horror. He tried to breath. Mycroft tried to put the tube into his throat, but it scratched the palate causing gagging. 

At this point, someone grabbed her arm and pushed from the bed. Mycroft stepped back, lost her balance and sat on the floor. While sitting she stared at John who did the intubation. The monitor was still in flames, pieces of metal and plastic on the floor.

Mycroft looked at her mobile. It was turned off just like whole day.

oOo

She knew it would end like that.

She knew from the beginning. John also knew.

“I knew it will end like that. We have a problem Mycroft.”

John was pacing, Mycroft was sitting staring at her useless hands.

From the side it looked like Watson was informing patient that it was the end. Mycroft felt like someone was watching them. She could feel watchful gaze, her skin burned. 

“I am sorry.” Mycroft should say that, both of them knew she wouldn’t. “Patient will be okay and maybe he won’t go to court. I have no idea what you’ve done to this monitor, but the fact that you were diagnosing him when you are no longer an employee of Bart’s. If you show up again here, your former boss and now my boss will go to court and ban you from here. Do you even listen to me Mycroft?”

She stood up and took her coat. It seemed to be incredibly heavy like soaked, like she went down into the water.

And she was just going out.

“Well.” She said.  
“Well.” John said. “It was nice to work with you.” A lie. “I regret that it happened.” Another lie. ”If you need me, you have my number, right?”

John tried to look at her face. It wasn’t important now, she shook his hand and turned to leave.

“You don’t have to go with me.”

But he went, probably making sure she really went out from the hospital.

She stopped and looked at the end of the corridor, to the place from she thought someone was watching her. No one was there, only lamp.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course Mycroft returned to Bart’s. The same night. Slipped past sleeping nurses. Their lack of professionalism irritated her. Even them could work here!

She climbed the stairs stood for a while in the smoking room looking at the ashtray. Then she walked straight ahead through the dark corridor. She opened the door of one of the rooms.

The patient was lying covered with a thin blanket. Monitor stood beside her. She touched it and wondered what happened. The explosion wasn’t accidental. Couldn’t be. Something like that just didn’t happen. 

But Mycroft didn’t have time for puzzles like that. She was a doctor, she came to treat.

She took a scalpel. She held it in her hand, enjoying the lightness and strength of a steel.

She closed her eyes.

The first cut was clean, better than in the old days, even before she joined army. Better than ever. She held the edges of a cut then deepened it, with an effort she pressed the steel into flesh – hot and alive. She felt pain in her wrist, but not trembling. She pulled her sleeves up to not stained them with blood. She put her fingers inside the wound. 

Blood was everywhere, more and more, seeping out of the body…

Something went wrong. She touched something hard and it was not a bone. She tried to check what it was, pressed deeper into body. Blood dripped on the floor.

Finally she had it. Thin and long, emerged from the wound, thin and long, terribly familiar, thin and long-… chain with dog tags, of course. Naturally it was a chain, she should recognize it earlier. She rubbed it and red the name.

M. Holmes.

Patient turned her head and Mycroft looked at herself – dead. Blood everywhere, everywhere.

Shouting Mycroft fell from the bed. Curled up on the floor and leaned back against the bed, clutching her wounded leg.

“The end, the end.” She whispered. “The end.”

She got up and limped to the kitchen. Frowned when she switched light on. 

Slowly she sat down on a chair and took her head into hands.

oOo

All hospitals were the same. (false) She could work in any of them. (false, false) You didn’t have to operate to be a proper doctor. (nonsense) She just wanted to do something. Anything.

Mycroft sighed and stopped in front of automatic door to hospital. She stood there frozen. But she couldn’t go back inside. She had no right. For a second she wished that the red car hit her, she would be inside. Nausea approached her throat. Stupid, she didn’t eat today or yesterday. She drank only coffee, the whole sea of coffee.

She tighten her grip on thick beige cup of coffee to go. Black no sugar. It started raining, Mycroft thought she should buy an umbrella. She turned and went down the street. People passed by. Leg ached again, she had to slow down. She was still forgetting about the leg and went too fast, but again sharp pain made her come back to reality. Mycroft paused, waiting for it to pass. She glanced at her feet, seeing a crack in the asphalt.

And then suddenly someone jerked her arm. A cup of coffee fell down, rolled on the asphalt leaving a wet trail. Where Mycroft stood, seconds later were lying shells of a heavy pot that shattered on the pavement

Mycroft turned and saw the man. With an umbrella. He stood close enough that she saw colour of his eyes.

(Brown, the nice shade of brown.)

The man tried to withdrew his hand, but Mycroft caught it.

“Who are you?” She drawled, eyes wide. Something had to happen with her eyes, because Mycroft saw the man like through a fog.   
“No, no, no.” The man said quietly and made unhappy face. “I am not here, never was. You can’t see me.”  
“You are wrong.” Mycroft replied clutching harder. The skin on stranger’s wrist was dry and a bit rough. “And better tell me, what are you doing here? Why are you following me? Who sent you?”

The stranger shook his head, desperately trying to get free. People were passing by like nothing happened.

“I am not here.” The man repeated.  
“Who sent you?! What is his name?!” Mycroft got angry.  
“Name?” The mans’ eyes widened and suddenly he burst into loud, frantic laughter. “You want to know his name?”

He stepped closer to her. Stanger’s cheek touched hers, his lips moved against her ear. But there was no sound, she heard silence, stunning and infinite like space.

The next moment she realized that she was standing in the middle of crowded street surrounded by the noise of the big city. She tried to find the man with umbrella, but he had to hide in a crowd.

She crouched down to pick up empty cup. But instead she stared at her fingers.

She was absolutely sure that the man didn’t have pulse.

oOo

Days became one endless nightmare. Mycroft wandered uselessly around the town, she sent millions messages to Watson all were connected with the patient who had a guinea pig. (Yes, she had his number.) “He had scratch on his leg. Think!” She didn’t want to speak directly, she didn’t want other people to use her observations, but she couldn’t sit quiet. “Think! Think! Think!” Mycroft didn’t go to her therapist anymore. There was no possibility of having her job back, so there was no need of agony in that cabinet. Instead she solved crosswords, lay for hours in the bathroom and she was cleaning, all the time, no dust, not a stained spot in the flat. Also she watched three seasons of Doctor House without a break, feeling like his ridiculous parody.

She found a stain on her bathrobe so she started walking naked in the flat. She watched all of her moles and freckles also lymph nodes. Out of boredom she predicted how long she would live. The conclusion was not comforting. Long, boring years unless another pot decided to kill her.

Trying to fight apathy Mycroft took notes about the stranger. She knew several ways to fake lack of pulse, but she didn’t know how to fake disappearing. That car hit her. Mycroft felt internal injuries, bleeding. Something was wrong.

She searched the web, nothing. She didn’t have his name, no other points. His face was average. Maybe tired and his hair were silver. It could be anyone.

He was the most beautiful human being she had ever seen.

Mycroft was confused, her own thoughts went to directions she didn’t want. For many years she didn’t allow herself to think about humans In such a manner. And beside that how a stranger could become an obsession just like that. There was something about him, danger? Maybe it was a cause of this emotions? Her therapist once said that Mycroft was in love with war and she experienced its loss like losing beloved man. Mycroft told her that she was married to her job and only it was important.

She kept thinking about brown eyes man and it was tiring. When headache started she drank more coffee and composed something on the piano. She tried not to sleep. When she failed, she dreamed about war, sometimes about the hospital, but usually the two things mixed. Once- she was operating soldiers on the sand and Watson assisted her. He was shouting something over shooting. He wore sunglasses. He tried to warn her, but Mycroft was too busy with operating and she wanted to tell him that she was busy. But she couldn’t, because of a tube in her throat. Mycroft began to choke, she looked down and saw that there was sand in the tube. But then she saw the man, he didn’t say anything just stared at her, but she heard his voice.

“All lives ends. All heart are broken. Caring is not an advantage.”

oOo

Mycroft like always came in. Sherlock was pale and tired, buried under his papers. Seeing Mycroft he ran his fingers through his hair, preparing himself for unpleasant conversation.

All off their conversations were unpleasant.

But Mycroft didn’t know where to start, so she walked around the room touching different things on the desk and shelves. Her hands were busy, but her brain was exhausted.

Sherlock got back to his work, doing something with his papers. One document was on the edge of the desk, Mycroft looked at it, Sherlock without looking at her covered it with his briefcase. Mycroft lifted corners of her mouth.

Sherlock finally finished. He cocked his head. He always had problems with his neck. No wonder, if you had such a heavy head and bitter smile.

“So they fired you.” He said. His voice startled Mycroft.  
“Now, you know everything?”  
“I told you it was a bad idea. You know I can arrange. I can find you a good place.” The tone was full of resignation. Mycroft felt anger. She recalled herself why they hated each other so much and why she shouldn’t come here.  
“You don’t have to arrange anything for me.” She retorted. “Find a new diet, you are losing weight again.”  
“Pot kettle, sister mine. I gained a few pounds since our last meeting.” Sherlock objected.  
“Maybe, but I don’t think you need coke in your diet.”

Sherlock gave her one of his bitter smiles.

“Coke?” He raised one of his thin eyebrows.  
“You have a trail of it in the corner of your nose.” Mycroft said with disgust. Sherlock closed his eyes and laughed.  
“Now, you know everything?”

Mycroft regretted coming here. Sometimes it was better not to see everything.

Two years ago her brother went on vacation. Village in Switzerland, skiing, fresh air. It was the official version. Sherlock was on rehab, trying to cope with drugs. Unsuccessfully, as you could see.

“You should share with me.”  
“You don’t use.” Sherlock replied curtly without opening his eyes. “And you don’t smoke, three weeks now, congratulations, Mycroft.” He opened his eyes and looked coldly at her. “Are you going to make it chronic?” He pointed at her hand.  
“It is chronic!” Mycroft hissed pulling her hands forward. Right slightly twitched. Left clenched into fist. She looked at them, then at Sherlock. He waited no emotions on his face. 

She looked at the window, raining again. Sherlock blinked. 

“It is that bad?” Sherlock suddenly asked and in his voice… So here we go again. Disappointment.  
“I need a job.”  
“I told you…”  
“I need my job. I need my hands. And I need to now a name of one man.”  
“Who?”

Mycroft shook her head.

“What do you know about him?”  
“Brown eyes, umbrella. No pulse. He is following me. Was in my flat.” Mycroft gritted her teeth. Sherlock looked serious.  
“You think you are in danger?” He asked. Mycroft opened her eyes wider, staring at him. And exhaled slowly.   
“You don’t think, I am finally crazy?”  
“Post-traumatic stress disorder, psychosomatic pain and tremor and paranoia, it is too much even for you.”  
“So we stay with PTSD?”   
“I would also add psychosomatics. Rest is just babble of stupid therapists. After all they have to have something to write about you in their reports for me.”

Siblings smiled. When Sherlock was on drugs he had a sense of humour. He was this kind of man who was very human on drugs to the point he wasn’t human at all.

“I will install cameras in your flat if you wish.”

Mycroft waved her hand.

“I am not an idiot, I know cameras are already there.”  
“Good, to you want materials know?”  
“I will wait for a few days. He is really cheeky. Recently left me a sandwich on the table.”  
“Poisoned?”

Mycroft snorted.

“And?”  
“Clean.” She shrugged, Sherlock frowned.  
“So this murderer in spe is trying to make you eat? We definitely should do something about it!”  
“Not funny, I do not do sandwiches and you know that. The crust from bread was cut off. He wants to show me that he can do everything. He is right there and I don’t hear him, I don’t see him. He knows everything about me, he knows how I drink my tea.”  
“There was a tea? With a sandwich?”  
“My life is in his hands.” Mycroft ignored Sherlock. “And he wants me to show he will always win.”  
“Mycroft…” Sherlock sounded tired. “Go home.”

oOo 

Mycroft couldn’t stop thinking about patient with guinea pig. So she started reading about infections. She ordered books. The scratch on his leg was a clue, she was sure and guinea pig was suspect.

Her brain was overloaded with information, she tried meditating. In moment of anger she smashed some plates and then spent four hours on cleaning the flat. Neighbours knocked to her, maybe it was connected with vacuum cleaner she used after one a.m. In the morning owner came she didn’t open the door. She smoked again. 

Mycroft thoughts about her dreams. Contrary to popular belief she found intuition useful. It was a knowledge on unconscious level. And dreams were a part of it. Sadly dreams were awful metaphors. She wondered what her dog tags were doing inside of her. Then she wrote Watson a message.”

Watson didn’t answer. 

oOo

Anthea had never liked open space much. But she agreed to come to the roof. Gregory was already waiting for her. Sitting on the edge. Anthea sat next to him. She had some documents which she red.

“Car, hospital equipment, pot, bullet… You are not very good at it.”

Gregory nodded.

“No, I am trying, but I am new in the business.”  
“Work is work.” Anthea sighed and Gregory snapped annoyed.  
“I know, I know, thanks a lot. You don’t have to remind me.”  
Gregory cleared his throat. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t…”

He took deep breath and looked at Anthea..

“What bullet? There wasn’t any bullet.”  
“Oh, it should be.” Mistake confused Anthea a little.

Gregory nodded, beautiful, bullet.

“She has a gun.”

oOo 

Mycroft was cleaning her teeth when it happened. Before she could only guess, look for evidences of someone’s presence. A cup of tea, opened widow in the kitchen that smelled of cleaners, fresh newspaper she didn’t buy. Evidences were visible, but she wasn’t sure.

But not this time.

When she ended with her teeth she felt someone was behind her. She glanced in the mirror, but saw only herself, her eyes red and watery from cigarette’s smoke.

“I know you are here.” She said. No response. “I know you are here and I don’t care.”

oOo

Mycroft suddenly sat up in bed gasping for air. She was not going to sleep, just closed her eyes for a minute. The lamp was still on and she stared at her shadow on the opposite wall, huge and black. She was so small in comparison.

Mycroft stood up and walked to her closed. On the bottom shelf was a box with a gun. 

She took it and sat in front of the piano. The lid was closed. It was closed since she tried to play just after coming back from the war. Her hands shook so much, the sound was awful. She would have never played again.

She thought about patient with guinea pig, she was close to the solution, just needed a little more time. 

She took the gun out of the box, her dog tags were tangled on the barrel. She put them around her neck. She unlocked the gun, familiar sound.

Mycroft raised the gun in steady motion and in that moment a weight fell on her hand. She struggled panting through clenched teeth then laughed.

“You are an idiot.” She said quietly to empty room. “I know how they are found. Veterans. Men with PTSD. Dressed in uniforms with a bullets in their heads.”

Mycroft felt her hand was free again. 

“I am not a man and wasn’t real soldier.”

She pulled her arm and shoot seven bullets in the wall, two eyes and crocked smile. Someone was pounding to her door and shouting about police. Mycroft laughed when someone took the gun from her hand.

“Hey, take it easy.”

Her mobile buzzed, message from Sherlock.

“Fuck off.” She said loudly, turning her face in direction where probably was camera. And then quietly to the invisible man. “I can’t give you my gun, you are a civilian.”

oOo

Mycroft red newspaper, folded it and threw on the table.

“Do you mind? I solved crossword, but puzzles for children are intact. In case you wanted to… you know.”

She sipped her tea and reached for ashtray in which was her cigarette. Ashtray drove away from her hand. Mycroft froze, eyes wide. Then she smiled wryly.

“What? Smoking kills?”

Suddenly she caught the ashtray but it was pulled out from her hand.

“This is stupid.”

Mycroft laughed, no please, thirty something surgeon with IQ 180, fighting for an ashtray with a ghost.

Struck by this thought she withdrew her hand. Ashtray drove to the edge of the table and fell down. Mycroft curled up in the chair, arms awkwardly hugging her knees. 

“Madness.” She muttered looking like cigarettes burned carpet. “I am a madwoman.”

That day she decided that she should leave the flat.

She put on her coat and gloves and sat for a long time in park with a book. Then she went to hospital. Legs were going there on their own. Maybe she would go to the morgue or something.

So much damn free time. 

On the corner of her eye she saw that the man was following here, but if you couldn’t treat the madness you should ignore it. So she ignored the man. 

She decided to enter the building from the back, to not attract too much attention. She turned to small allay between building. And there she was caught.

“Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes?” The man asked, Mycroft stopped and looked at him. Blond, tall, seemed strangely familiar. He was nervous. One hand in pocket apparently clutching something. Mycroft took a step back. She looked around tried to see if someone would notice when this happened.

“It is you, do you remember me?”

Mycroft shook her head.”

“Of course you don’t. How many people like me you’ve met? Not even asking for names.”  
“Not important.” Mycroft said coldly. “What do you want?”  
“On your knees.”  
“What?”  
“On your knees.” The man nervously licked his lips and took the gun out. “Now!” He knew what to do with gun, but he was nervous. So not military or cop. No criminal, he went to shooting range? Preparing. Yes, he prepared himself for this meeting.

Mycroft dropped on her knees. Left leg soaked in the puddle.

“What now?” She asked slowly, not taking her eyes from the man’s lips. “You gonna kill me or give a speech?”  
“You better shut up, smartass. Always so haughty, conceited bitch. Better than everyone, the best, but not that good to save him.”  
“Oh, so the speech.” Mycroft sighed tired, rolling her eyes. She shuddered, realizing that she automatically put her hands behind her back, like usually hostages were ordered. The coat was hot, she felt sweat on her neck, smelled plastic and petrol, but it wasn’t Afghanistan and this man was just an idiot. One of many, unlucky sad idiot. He wouldn’t shoot or at least wouldn’t kill her. Bullet would end probably in her leg or arm.  
“Father? No, no, brother of course.”  
“Tom, he was only nine.”  
“Name?”  
“Leighton. Tom Leighton.”

Mycroft closed her eyes.

“Recall something?” The man asked.

“My job was done perfectly well.” Mycroft said. Leighton shook the gun. Mycroft stared at the muzzle. Her leg ached.  
“You said he needed surgery, the second doctor didn’t agree, said we could cure Tom without surgery. And you said…”  
“That operation was the best variant.”  
“Yes and he died.” The man swallowed hard and looked straight into her eyes. “Died.”

And Mycroft suddenly realized that the man would kill her.

“I didn’t operate.”  
“No, but you forced us, you said you knew better.”  
“The diagnosis was correct. The risk is always. Boy was opened on the operating table. People die sometimes there.” Mycroft snapped irritably while thinking. “What are you doing? Shut up or he will kill you!”  
“I wasn’t wrong. It is a matter of chance.”  
“You were wrong, say it! Tell me you whore!” The mans’ eyes were full of tears. “Even when he died you didn’t apologized! Do it know!”

Mycroft shook her head.

The impact was surprisingly strong. The man kicked her in the chest, she felt his boot on her sternum. Mycroft rolled onto her back and immediately moved before next kick. She wanted to get up but the barrel was suddenly aimed at her forehead. 

“I hate…” The man gasped his eyes wet. And it started raining.  
“Enough.” Mycroft snapped. “You don’t want to go to jail.”  
“Actually, I don’t care anymore.”

The man pulled the trigger and someone pushed Mycroft. A shot rang out, bullet hit the wall. Mycroft lay on the ground watching as two strangers fought. The brown eyed man won, he was pinning him down and gasped to Mycroft.

“Run! Mycroft, just run!”

Mycroft stood up, took a gun and unloaded it. 

“I see you know my name, can I know yours?” She offered a hand to brown eyed man, seeing that amazement on his face gave away to smile. Her unlucky attacker was flushed and was suffocating slowly. “A little more and we will have to hide a body.” Mycroft remarked. The man grimaced and whispered something to attacker’s ear. He shut his eyes and went limp. The stranger looked at her.

“All right, well.”  
His hand was warm and strong.

“Gregory. Gregory Lestrade.”

And he added under his breath.

“I am sure I will regret this.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Sherlock.” Mycroft said sourly, returning from her walk.  
“I poured tea, do you mind?” Sherlock raised a cup, sitting in her armchair. His legs on a small table.  
“Yes, I do, go away.”  
“I have cameras’ records.”  
“And?” Mycroft sat on the couch and cursed when she felt bruises. Sherlock looked at his sister. He didn’t missed that her trousers and coat were dirty.  
“Someone beat you.” Sherlock sighed tiredly. “Again.”  
“Unimportant.” Mycroft waved her hand. “What about records?”  
“Nothing. You are alone. No one was in your flat, except you. You can watch then but…”  
“No need, I believe you. There was no one. Just me.”  
“Mycroft?” Sherlock said anxiously. “You don’t look disappointed.  
“Because I am not. I finally met him.”  
“Really?”  
“We went for coffee. We talked. Nice. Of course, an idiot, but still…”  
“It was nice?”  
“Although, I drank coffee, he didn’t touch it. I don’t think he can eat at all.”   
“You said it was nice?”  
“Do not repeat after me.” Mycroft snapped irritably, throwing Sherlock a quick glance. “He is interesting. He is something new. The cameras didn’t record him.”  
“Yes. Should I start worry, Mycroft?”  
“Just go away. I have to think. I will call you later.”  
“You were shooting to walls.” Sherlock was already at door when he said that. “The owner is unhappy. I think he will kick you out soon. Start looking for a new flat.” He said seriously. “I can help you with that.”  
“I don’t need your help, Sherlock. Go away!” Mycroft raised her voice.  
“Mycroft.” Sherlock said softly. “Honestly, do I have to worry?”

Mycroft opened her mouth and closed it. Sherlock was still waiting. She didn’t want to lose this so she lied. 

“No.”

Then she listened that Sherlock closed the door behind him. Mycroft closed her eyes stretched on the couch and started thinking about Gregory Lestrade.

oOo

Being awaken at eight a.m., after a long sleepless night was cruel. She heard the owner yelling in front of the door that she had three hours and he would come back with police.

She turned on her side, stretched her hands. Mycroft sat down, yes ribs ached and she had a few large bruises. Nothing serious.

“What do you think?” She asked looking towards the window. On the kitchen table was newspaper, opened on the section “house to rent”. Good variants were circled with yellow marker. But Mycroft already knew where would she go. 

Wrapped in her sheet and yawning aloud she started collecting her books.

She arrived at Baker Street with her belongings. Mrs Hudson greeted her warmly.

“Mycroft, dear, come.”  
“Will you have something against me if someone will live with me?”  
“No, of course not, who will be with you, some lovely boy?” Mrs Hudson smiled.  
“Just a friend of mine.”  
“In that case I will prepare the second bedroom!” Landlady clapped her hands, but at this same time she looked at Mycroft. “Or maybe not?”  
“Nonsense, of course he will need bedroom.” Mycroft said dryly.

She felt warmness on her cheeks. The beauty of blush wasn’t so exciting when it came to her own cheeks.

Gregory was waiting for her in the flat.

“You know I can’t live with you.”  
“Why?”

Greg didn’t answer, so Mycroft went to inspect the kitchen.

“Why?” She repeated, casually, like it didn’t mean anything and to mask how her hands were shaking. She wanted to touch the side of kettle and hold it until it get warm and would burn her hands.  
“It is prohibited.” Greg answered softly, standing behind her.  
“You already live with me. Oh and you do not pay the rent, which is not fair.” Mycroft remarked and sat on the chair. Greg sat beside her. “I know, I am not good flatmate. I can be silent all day and I clean at night, but you should be around, shouldn’t you? Why not to make this more comfortable?”

Gregory was silent. Mycroft waited for a response. She didn’t look at him.

She was afraid it would not work. Greg finally said.

“I will ask.”  
“Who?”  
“My boss.”  
“It would be nice.”

Greg cleared his throat. They looked at each other.

“Are you my guardian angel?” Mycroft asked.  
“Something like that.” Greg replied.

oOo

Greg returned at twilight when Mycroft already thought he would not come back. Mycroft was bored and she was cleaning kitchen table when she heard door slamming and muffled voice of Mrs Hudson. Mycroft hurried to the living room, sat on the armchair and made bored expression.

Greg appeared in the living room.

“They allowed me.” He said and grinned.  
“They allowed me.” He repeated sitting in the armchair in front of Mycroft, not noticing that she wasn’t listening to him. “Shocking!”

He was silent for a few seconds, looking at Mycroft, she finally looked back.

“And what’s so shocking?”  
“You wouldn’t understand.” Greg shook his head noticing scowl on Mycroft face, he said. “You had never stopped being… well… human. So, how would you know how it is, suddenly become one again?”  
“You are mortal?” Mycroft raised eyebrow with interest.  
“Not exactly, not really.” Greg scratched his temple. “I… frankly, I am not sure yet. Things just… it is complicated…”  
“So you are like human, but not exactly.” Mycroft concluded. Greg chuckled softly.  
“Yes, anyway, now I can feel cold, taste…”

Mycroft looked at him and he suddenly fell silent, his eyes wide opened. Mycroft frowned.

“What is it?”  
“I can… I can eat.” Greg said quietly. “Now, I can eat. Everything I want. Smell. I dreamed about it for so many years.”  
“Food.” Mycroft snorted.

Gregory covered his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Mycroft watched him surprised. Finally she walked over to Greg and moved his hands. Fortunately it seemed that Greg was all right. His eyes were dry, the corners of his mouth lifted. Mycroft wasn’t good with emotions, but she knew facial signals.

“Imagine that by dozens… hundreds of years you are forced to remain on the other side… like you see the whole reality through the glass.” Greg whispered. “No wind, no rain, you don’t laugh, you don’t feel sadness or love, no food, music, smells. And then suddenly you can have it all back. Again you can try everything.”  
“So, that means dinner?” Mycroft said uncertainly. “I know a place near here. They will feed us for free.”  
“Yeah.” Greg smiled and licked his lips. “Good idea.”

Mycroft stepped back suddenly feeling the heat between her shoulder blades. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. Fortunately Gregory didn’t notice anything.

oOo

Everything went terribly wrong. Angelo lit a candle and brought ice cream with chocolate. “All the best for Mycroft’s friend.” His words. Near them sat two people, men on a date. Blond one was bisexual, apparently during divorce, the second one, brown hair, younger, was a student. Judging the hands it was design or architecture. They met through internet or mutual friends. Blonde one was constantly improving his trousers and went to toilet twice.

“You should try it.” Greg said sitting in front of her.  
“For the third time.” Mycroft muttered when the blonde one stood up and apologized his companion. The student with a bored expression turned his glass in his hands and then began to write a message. Greg looked at him too.  
“What? He?”  
“Eat your dessert.”  
“An old friend?”  
“No.”  
“Just catch your eye?”  
“Of course not.”  
“It’s fine, it is nice man.”  
“You think so.” Mycroft mumbled, watching as Greg ate also her ice cream.  
“Yes, but you probably have no chance, I think that he is on date.”  
“They may just eat together. Or if eating means dating, it also means that we are on a date.” Mycroft was delighted by Greg’s panicked eyes.  
“Oh, do not panic Gregory.” Mycroft smirked. “You can put out the candle if it calms you down. And in general two men dating it is completely normal.”

Greg blew out the candle and then shrugged with somehow sad face.

“I don’t… I’m flattered, but I can’t. My job has me, no one else.”

Mycroft snorted

“I am not interested, you don’t have to explain.”

They were silent. Mycroft impatiently tapped her fingers on the edge of the cup. Gregory finished ice cream. Blonde returned to his companion. Mycroft didn’t hear what Greg was talking to her.

“… It would be good.”  
“What?”  
“To date someone.”  
“Let’s close this topic.”  
“You know, I couldn’t do it, because of obvious reasons. But you? I want to say, that you could go on dates. You are attractive and mysterious…”  
“I am sorry, what?”

Greg coughed and flushed.

“I wanted to say… I do not… yeah, right. Damn…”  
“I am not interested in dating.” Mycroft took pity. “I am not interested in people in general. Unless they suffer from something exotic. But disease usually do not provide long contacts, if you know what I mean.”

Judging from… basically everything Greg didn’t understand.

“Incurable diseases are the most attractive.” Mycroft explained. “They are like a challenge, like a puzzle without answer. And then one day, me or someone like me is finding solution.”

Mycroft suddenly realized that she opened her soul in front of a stranger. Gregory watched her carefully, quiet and serious. His face suddenly became sad, unknown.

“So you want to cure incurable diseases.”  
“First I have to learn about them, treatment is a next step.”  
“And you just like them?”  
“Yes, I take also other cases, but they are not that interesting.”  
“But people dying because of them.”  
“Everybody dies, it is a general rule, Gregory.”  
“The rule of balance.” Greg muttered under his nose/  
“Excuse me?”  
“Nothing. I just… You know, when you say it, it sounds pretty awful.”

Mycroft shrugged and turned away. She didn’t expect that Greg would understand.

“That is why I don’t talk about it. I usually success, ask my therapist.”  
“You go to psychoanalyst?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Why?”  
“I hit someone with a cane.”  
“You hit someone…”  
“Do not repeat after me. And yes, I did.”

She just came back from Afghanistan and she tried to get used to civilian life. New flat, cane. New reality. She met Mike Stamford and it made her so angry. Mike stood next to her, thick, clumsy pretending to be kind. He wasn’t the best during college. She was and he was an active doctor and she couldn’t have her license back because of psychosomatic tremor.

It was terribly unfair and for a second Mycroft lost control. She hit Mike with a cane. Straight in the face, breaking his glasses and breaking his nose.

“Let’s go.” She snapped standing up.

Mycroft was in door when she suddenly returned to the table where student giggled with his partner.

“You have urethritis.” She announced, looking at the blonde man. “And it is transferred sexually, so I would advise you two to not have sex after first meeting. It is treatable so go to doctor, for example to Bart’s hospital.”  
“How do you…”  
“Pain when you urinating, itching and burning.” Mycroft said in monotone voice. “Your nearly ex-wife should examine herself as well.”  
“Who the hell are you?” The man yelled, springing to his feet. Mycroft didn’t have time to answer, because Greg grabbed her sleeve and pulled to exit. They went into the street panting.

“What are you doing?” Greg hissed. “How can you know he was sick?”  
“The symptoms were obvious.” Mycroft rolled her eyes. “He was uncomfortable, still improving his trousers and wriggled and he went to toilet for too many times.” Mycroft tried to smile. Greg for a few seconds stared at her in silence and then began to laugh. But almost immediately became serious again.  
“It doesn’t matter, Mycroft! You can’t talk about things like that to strangers in the restaurant. You broke a date.”  
“So I should let him be ill instead?”  
“You could find more discreet way.” Greg insisted.

At this point the blonde man came out and headed straight to them. Greg tensed and stepped forward blocking Mycroft.

“It is enough, Mycroft.” He said quietly. She snorted and walked to meet furious man face to face. However he didn’t look angry anymore. He bit his lip and watched her with fear.

“You are a doctor, right?” He asked Mycroft. “I… I had no idea. It is serious? Do I need injections or or something you know down there?”  
“Probably just pills, if you go to doctor as soon as it is possible.”  
“Damn.” Man gasped, scratching back of his head. “You said Bart’s? Do you work there? Could I have your business card?”” Man asked. Mycroft tensed.  
“Not anymore.” She said and walked away. She heard Greg behind her.

She came home alone.

oOo

Mycroft woke up screaming. Gregory was there, standing at the head of the bed, half hidden in the shadow. His face was dark. It seems as if he had no face. Mycroft stared into darkness squinting.

“Bad dream?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
“There were bicycles, flying bicycles everywhere…” Mycroft began weakly. “And Christmas trees and bells and pinkish…”  
“You are making fun of me?”  
“Correct.”

It was better, to talk with someone just after she woke up. Mycroft suddenly remembered that she had nightmares when she was a child. Mom came and hugged her. Then she stopped and Mycroft forget she’d ever done that.

“This is my bedroom. Your is upstairs.” She said. “Do you sleep?”  
“I don’t need.”  
“How can I came into your business? I should save some kid from burning house or something like that, so they will give me a pair of wings and ability to not sleep?”  
“I don’t have wings.” Greg said in hushed tone. “And you don’t want to be one of us.”  
“Are you sure?” Mycroft muttered closing hr eyes.  
“I am sorry Mycroft.” Greg said even quieter. When she opened her eyes she was alone.

oOo

“Substantive editor is needed in medical journal, work from home, journalistic experience welcome.”  
“No.”  
“Why?”  
“I am not an editor.”  
“Oh, yeah, you even improve the encyclopaedia.”   
“I am not an editor.”  
“Okay, what’s about this? Clinic is looking for GP.”  
“I don’t want to prescribe antibiotics and measure the pressure of old ladies. I need a case, Gregory, something more interesting than those stupid things.”  
“And because of that you are gonna lie on the couch whole day?”  
“That’s it. You finally got it.””  
“And this, consultation online?”  
“Absolutely not!” Mycroft shouted and then was silence she added calmly. “I do not need your help in finding a job. In general I don’t need your help.”  
“Really?” Greg replied. He sat on the table, leaning over newspaper. A cup of tea near his elbow. This image was so bizarre and yet very appropriate that Mycroft closed her eyes.

She said names of all types of muscles in human body in her mind before she opened them again.

“You save my life, it is enough. Do not try to make it more… useful. It is a waste of time.”  
“No.” Greg objected. “You are wasting your life now. You are wasting it, not even knowing how much you have. We all die, Mycroft. You could die in that car accident.”  
“But I didn’t, although you were almost too late.”  
“I was not late. But that’s not the point.”  
“What is the point?”  
“You. The fact that you are now… wasting it all. You don’t live. Just lie down and feel sorry for yourself”  
“If I can’t do what I want, I have no intention of doing anything.” Mycroft said stubbornly and was surprised how childish it sounded. But she just felt like that. She could not play, operate or diagnose. All she had was pathetic military pension, brother on drugs and angel without wings as a flatmate. 

Sighing heavily Mycroft turned her face to the back of the couch and pressed knees to her chest.

Gregory didn’t say anything more, she thought he would leave. He didn’t, she heard that he started solving crossword.

oOo

In the evening Greg said that he was going to go to the mall.

“Do you want anything?”  
“No.” Mycroft watched as Greg put on his jacket. How does he have it here? She thought absently. How did he have all of his clothes and socks and underwear?   
”Do you want money?”

Greg shook his head.

“I have for delegation.” He replied and left. Mycroft stared at closed door. 

But before Greg came back, Mycroft again felt falling into blue mood. She sent several messages to Watson, asking him about some interesting cases and the status of patient with guinea pig. He didn’t answer back. The information vacuum was torture. She started walking around flat and thinking about cleaning it one more time. But she wasn’t in the mood for that, even neurosurgery book didn’t appeal her. 

She sat lifelessly on the couch and turned on TV, some dreadful reality show was on. The evening couldn’t have been worse.

When Greg returned, he smelled of cold air and something else, but Mycroft couldn’t say what. 

Mycroft closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep when Greg took bags to the kitchen. Almost silently he opened a fridge door and made a noise.

“Mycroft, we have blood in the fridge!”  
“It is not blood, it is plasma.” She improved.  
“And this jam jar?”  
“Do not tou…”  
“Ew, Mycroft, how can you keep it in the fridge?”  
“It is faeces, it’s always standing on the bottom shelf with urine samples, plasma on the top with purulent. I will be grateful if you do not touch them.”  
“And where should I put my milk?”  
“Your what?”

Mycroft came to the kitchen barefoot. Greg unhappily touched his nose.

“I told you to not open the jars.” Mycroft said angrily.  
“I didn’t miss this smell.”  
“Why you need so much milk?”

Mycroft looked at the begs. Greg bought only milk.

“I just wanted to.”  
“For I don’t know how many years you didn’t eat or drink anything and now when you finally can, you buy… milk?”  
“I like milk.” Greg said grimly.   
“Put on the top.” She said and did this with a few cartons. Greg stared at her.  
“It will get sour.”  
“It will get sour one day if you want or not.”  
“People dying, milk gets sour, that’s your philosophy? So better leave at the start?”  
“I don’t understand why we quarrel. It is just milk and if you are going to buy it in such amounts, better buy new fridge!”

Greg just stared at her and then started laughing. Mycroft observed him, his entire body laughed and Mycroft realized she was laughing too.


	4. Chapter 4

In reality entering the hospital wasn’t that easy like in her dreams. She came during night shift, because everyone were usually busier. More car accidents and other incidents. 

She didn’t steal a white coat and went straight to Mrs Hubbard, woman whom Mycroft diagnosed with leukaemia. She slept or seemed to be asleep. Mycroft took Mrs Hubbard card and sat down on a chair. In this case nothing could help, but dying people often wanted to take a risk. Mycroft liked when ill people who didn’t have a real chance agreed for operations which nearly for sure would not change anything. Someone might think it was desperation, but Mycroft saw courage and fight – with body, disease and with death.

Other surgeons didn’t share her point of view. Who would have liked patient who died on the table?

“What are you thinking about, my dear?”

Mycroft flinched and looked at Mrs Hubbard who smiled. Mycroft decided she didn’t recognize her, but she was wrong. 

“Do you bring me food again?”

Mycroft shook her head.

“No, not this time.”  
“Then take honey cookies, they are on the nightstand. I don’t want them and you look like you could eat something.”

To her surprise Mycroft took a cookie and ate it. Mrs Hubbard watched her. For some reason old ladies always wanted to feed Mycroft. Yesterday Mrs Hudson brought a homemade pie and calmed down when Mycroft finally ate a little. Fortunately Gregory ate the rest.

Mrs Hudson was good for Mycroft, because she treated Mr Hudson, who was very, very ill. Actually he was just dying in agony and no one could help him. Mycroft too, but she unlike others took care of shorten the agony.  
But Mrs Hubbard had no reason to feed Mycroft. She should just call a nurse and tell her about stranger in her room.

“But you know that you have an empty stomach? This disease gives the illusion of fullness, but still you should eat.”  
“I don’t think I have much time.” Old lady sighed. “And I want to live this time comfortably.”  
“It sound reasonable.”  
“So you are a kind of therapists or someone they send to dying people?”  
“No, I am a doctor, I diagnosed you.”  
“Really?” Mrs Hubbard smiled. “But you are not going to heal me, right?”  
“No, I am not.” She pretended not to hear the hope in old lady voice. “There is nothing I can do.”  
“Then why are you here?”  
“Just like that.” She had to think. She had to solve the puzzle or it would lead her to madness.  
“Thank you.” Mrs Hubbard suddenly said, but Mycroft was far away in her thoughts.

Iron. Scalpel burned her fingers. “His name is Eddie.” “Not important.” “Came to the corridor” GL, Iron. Scratch. Think! Think! Feet were sweating. He coughed. No, wrong, only cleaning his throat. Intubation tube. Iron. Breathing with difficulties. Sweating. Dryness, discomfort in the throat. Level of iron in blood? Iron. Breathing. Spasm. Trachea narrowing. “You can’t talk about things like that in public.” What thing? Problem with erection? That was not in the card. Think! Think! “Do you have a cat or a hamster?” Iron. His blood. Iron. He couldn’t breathe. Dog tags. M. Holmes. Doctors were the worst patients. Symptom: insomnia. Symptom: tremor. Iron. Haemoglobin. Secrete. Hormones. Glands.

Thyroid.

Symptoms:

Problems with breathing  
Insomnia (possible?)  
Sweating  
Irritability (quite possible when you consider that that monitor nearly killed him)  
Erection problems (he would not admit it)  
Heat or cold intolerance  
Dryness, discomfort in the throat  
Difficulties with swallowing   
Narrowing or displacement of the trachea (the problem wasn’t her trembling hands but trachea, that’s why she couldn’t do the intubation)  
Hashimoto's thyroiditis  
Mycroft opened her eyes, breathing slowly. Yes, she always was right.  
Mrs Hubbard was asleep, the sun was slowly waking up.

oOo

Mycroft suddenly opened door to the storage.

“You two!”

Donovan shuddered and clumsily covered naked breasts. Anderson nearly fainted (well, probably, because he was wearing a wedding ring and in hospital gossips travelled fast).Mycroft impatiently tapped her fingers on her wrist watch.

“Faster! You're wasting my time!”  
“Oh, damn, psycho!” Anderson hissed, Donavon was buttoning her blouse.   
“Could you close the door?” She snapped, her face red, Mycroft couldn’t decide it was because shame or because things they did in storage.  
“Could you work for a few minutes, patient needs an ultrasound of the thyroid. Now.” Mycroft snapped her fingers impatiently.   
“What are you doing here? They banned you!” Donovan hissed holding Mycroft’s sleeve.  
“Not important.”  
”I should call security. What are you now, a voyeur? New obsession of yours?”  
“What? I am not going to comment what you did with Anderson, I’ve already felt sick.”  
“At least we have some sex. And you? Do you sleep with anatomy textbook?”  
“Some sex.? Thanks.” Anderson joined them as they walked hurriedly down the hall.   
“Okay, We will forget about it, just go home.”  
“Do the ultrasound. Room three oh nine.”

Sally stopped and raised her eyes to the ceiling. Then sadly looked at Mycroft who shifted from foot to foot, felling uncomfortable under Sally gaze. Finally she said.

“Trouble with breathing, displacement of the trachea, sweating, discomfort when swallowing, It is…”  
“Hashimoto.” Donovan finished for her. “We did ultrasound and we gave him hormones.”

Mycroft didn’t change her face, but Donovan looked at her with pity, Mycroft hated it.

“Do not think we are that stupid. We finished medical degree too. World won’t collapse without you.” Donovan suddenly glanced over Mycroft shoulder.  
“Doctor Watson.”

Watson looked at Mycroft with despair and firmly grabbed her elbow.

“Come on, we will go for cigarette.”

In the smoking room Watson pulled out cigarettes, Mycroft sat on the parapet.

“You don’t smoke.”  
“I consider starting.” Watson inhaled and closed his eyes. Mycroft looks out of the window.  
“When did you diagnose him?”  
“Just before the explosion.”  
“I stuck on that scratch.”  
“It happens.” John shrugged.   
“No, it is not. I don’t make mistakes.”  
“Everyone is sometimes wrong, Mycroft.”  
“Not me.”  
“Whatever, but you didn’t make a mistake. You wrote me…” Watson took out his phone, he frowned. “I could swear you wrote me a message about Hashimoto…”  
“I didn’t.”  
“No? Strange.”  
“So I acted like an idiot. I didn’t see the obvious. I looked but didn’t see.”  
“Come on, the guy feels better.”  
“But I feel worse!” Mycroft yelled, took Watson’s cigarette and threw it. “Don’t smoke, it is unhealthy.”

Mycroft bent to take cigarette from the floor and threw it to ashtray. Watson made a move like he wanted patted Mycroft’s shoulder, but he withdrew when she looked at him with suspicious eyes.

“Mycroft, fuck, you know that there is nothing I want more then you coming back here. I don’t know how you manage with all those papers, budgets, and still you had time to diagnose, operate and making sure everyone is working. And board meeting! I am completely useless, I am a normal doctor, not an administrator. But you have to be polite. No more sneaking up. Do something with your tremor and you will have your job.”

Mycroft looked at him and went to the door.

“The problem is that you complicate everything! You enjoy challenges and you are looking for them. And we, ordinary people, we see obvious, and we are usually right. It is statistics. Obviousness is more common.”  
“Not in my life.” Mycroft muttered and went away.

oOo

“Can you fly?”  
“What?”  
“Fly. Can you?”  
“Possible.” Gregory replied cautiously, quickly licking his lips. Mycroft pretended to watch ER. “Why?”  
“Just curious.”  
“Hmmm.” Greg was leafing through one of Mycroft’s neurosurgery books. On a page with brain sections was scribbled fragment of suite for piano. Black and white picture of brain was coloured with crayons. Greg smiled and looked at Mycroft.  
“I thought you are a surgeon. Why do you have so many books about neurosurgery?”  
“I’ve been always curious what is happening in small stupid human brains.”  
“And?”  
“I still don’t know what is happening, no one knows, but I realized that human brain is the most beautiful, the most complex system in the universe. Amazing that something so perfect can be also so useless most of the times.”  
“Is this an allusion?”

Mycroft smiles, probably it supposed to mean. “It was just a joke, don’t take it personally” Or. “Again, you idiot, you asked about something you don’t want to know.”

Loudly she said.

“And you are not tired of it? When you look down at us, it becomes painfully obvious how much we are helpless?”  
Lestrade smiled.  
“It is possible that looking from your position people are even smaller then from the height of my flight. I think it is all about the observer.”  
“You only said that because you should.” Mycroft grumbled. She saw that Gregory didn’t understand her, so she turned the TV off and looked at him. “That is your job. You have to love people. It is a part of your profession. You don’t know if it is sincere or forced. You have to love people, you have to even love me, because you get my name from a jar. Is that not truth?”

She stared at Greg when he crossed the room and sat beside her on the couch. His hand on her knee, his eyes remind cold and dispassionate.

“No, you are wrong. As you said it is my job. I am not supposed to love people. I shouldn’t get attached. Because all lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage.”

Mycroft felt her mouth went dry, Gregory didn’t let her knee, eyes froze, his hand seemed weightless and unreal. Time slowed down, the air thickened and Mycroft had problems with inhaling.

“Do you understand?” Greg asked, he received a nod.

The clock began tickling again and everything became ordinary like always. Mobile started ringing.

“Phone.” Mycroft said and returning to TV show. Greg took the mobile and then wanted to give it to her.  
“Who is it?”  
“Probably government.” Gregory red from the screen.  
“Reject the call. He will be ringing, but I am busy.”

And Mycroft with overly enthusiastic smile stares at the TV. Greg just looked at the mobile, it was still ringing.

“Just turn it off.” Mycroft threw irritably, but Greg frowned, confused.  
“I wish I knew how.”  
“And what’s complicated? There is a button “off”?”  
“Imagine that I don’t know. I don’t like these tricks. And shopping! Why people need all those machines?”

Mycroft watched in amusement as Greg fought with the mobile and then held out her hand.

“Oh, please you have to unlocked the screen. From what year are you?” Mycroft asked softly. “Did you use carriages and horses?”   
“Maybe.” Greg answered cautiously.  
“But you sent me a message. I mean before the explosion.”  
“Not really. I just thought about doing it.”

The screen glowed.

“JUST LIKE THAT. GL”

“Nice impressive. What else can you do?”

“PLAY POKER. GW”

“And Cluedo?”

And then Mycroft had better idea.

oOo

“Mycroft, it is terrible idea.”  
“Don’t be a coward.”  
“They will be angry.”  
“Oh come on, were you always like that?”  
“Okay, shut up and hold me.”

The city below was dark with small light spots which made darkness even more dense. Mycroft’s coat flapping behind her like superhero’s cloak. They flew upwards and it seemed that Greg was not going to stop, even when the city completely disappeared. Greg didn’t wave his hands or did anything else, he just looked up, his arms tightly around Mycroft’s waist. The wind became scalding icy. It hurt to breathe.

“Gregory.” Mycroft rasped. And seconds later they were floating slowly above the city. Greg held her firmly, from time to time he looked at her with laughing eyes. Mycroft couldn’t control childish broad smile. It was like fairy tale, but better. 

Mycroft buried her nose in Greg cheek. She closed her eyes. Greg turned his head his lips touched Mycroft chin. His breath was hot.

“We are landing.”

Mycroft barely was able to stay on her feet when they touched the roof of Bart’’s.

They sat on the edge, legs dangling. Mycroft moved closer to him. She didn’t know if Gregory felt the cold in the way she did. But now she just wanted to warm up in someone’s closeness. Just like that and so very inappropriately.

“Do you miss this place?” Greg asked quietly, Mycroft shrugged.  
“I worked here for nearly eight years. I was a paramedic when I was in my second year at the academy. At the beginning of the fourth an intern. It was against the rules, but for me they made an exception. Because I was an exception. And they have good labs.”  
“And why you joined the army?”  
“Because my brother didn’t want me to. Also my own stupidity.”  
“That means?”  
“I was bored, everything was too easy. I had too much paper work so I decided I need more practice. More operations. You know here in Bert’s even when I was a head of surgery I couldn’t do every operation I wanted. And in Afghanistan I was alone. I was pleased with this, for the first few hours.”

It was hard to speak about it. Her heart was pounding and hands sweating. It was the first real time she spoke about it.

“And how about you?” She asked abruptly. “How did you die?”  
“What?”  
“How exactly did you die? You weren’t always an angel.”  
“I am not an angel.”  
“Not important. You could feel taste and cold and whatever else… Talk.”  
“I was stupid. Very, very stupid. And not good with cards. I wasn’t close with my parents or my older brother who was the most boring man you could meet, nightmare. I finished high school and went out into the world to try my luck in the big city.” He sighed looking at the city. “I didn’t like London when I get here. Too big, too noisy… full of crime. Money almost immediately ended. I must admit it was my fault. I was unlucky player and the rest I spent in opium houses. There I tried cocaine.”

Greg was silent. Mycroft grimaced with anger, everything turned out to be so trivial.

“You overdosed?”  
“No, I killed myself. I was ashamed and disgusted. Oh and in debts.”  
“And then you expressed remorse and they directed you here to save idiots?”  
“Kind of.” Greg muttered.  
“How many did you save?”  
“To be honest you are my first.”  
“Should I feel honoured?”  
“No, you should not.”  
“Gregory?”  
“Mhm?”  
“If you are not an angel, who are you?”

Mycroft looked at Gregory, when he opened his mouth… and suddenly he faced the sky.

“It’s raining.”  
“Yes.”  
“Rain!”  
“There is nothing to enjoy, we are in London. Statistically the rain…”

Greg wasn’t listening to her. He jumped up and run across the roof, spreading his hands and turning his face toward the clouds. He laughed and turned to Mycroft with shining eyes, as if rain was one more miracle just like flying. Mycroft smiled when she looked at him. The rain started pouring. The air was filled with smell of ozone and murmur. They were soaking, but didn’t want to go home.

Gregory stood in the rain alive and happy. Mycroft was sitting on the edge, legs dangling from the roof.

oOo

Anthea improved dead man on the table and took a step back to see if she did it well.

“You know, you cannot do that.” She whispered.  
“I brought you a peanut pretzel.” Greg entered the room. “You should try it, I’ve never eaten something like that before.”  
“You live with her, talk to her, watching her sleep…”

Greg froze, his smile slowly faded.

“It is what we all do. We look at them when they sleep.”  
“You fell for her and it is absolutely not allowed. Well I understand you.” Anthea said and added coldly. “But you can’t do this.”

Greg nodded and went to dead man, he tried to guess his eyes colour then he choked his question.

“Such things had to happen before. You do this all eternity. For all this time weren’t some precedents?”  
“Oh, Greg…”  
“Don’t look at me like that! And take this damn pretzel!”  
“They are human, she is human too, even if she doesn’t want to be. We come and leave. And that’s it. There is no another possibility. You should say goodbye, Greg.”

Well, he should.

Greg shook his head. Anthea touched his arm but seconds later she withdrew her hand.

“There was a similar case. Of course it was. One in all those years.”  
“And how did it end? No, do not tell me, I don’t want to know.”

Greg went to the door. Anthea came to body lying on the table and improve his hand.

“Bad, Greg, really, really, bad.”


End file.
